


Predator: World War

by iterations



Series: Yaksa Saga [4]
Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Predator (Yautja) & Related Fandoms, Predator (Yautja) - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Okinawa, Blood and Gore, Forensic Descriptions of Mutilated Bodies, Homophobia, One-Sided Attraction, Period-Typical Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iterations/pseuds/iterations
Summary: A marine with a life-altering secret. A Japanese general looking to avenge his forefather. Two Yaksa (Predator) hunters whose friendship is put to the test.Their paths cross in one of the bloodiest battles in WWII.
Series: Yaksa Saga [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957873
Comments: 8
Kudos: 2
Collections: Yautja Prime Prompt Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlphaLima1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaLima1980/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [AlphaLima1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaLima1980/pseuds/AlphaLima1980) in the [Yautja_Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Yautja_Prompts) collection. 



> Five months ago I promised my dear friend [AlphaLima1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaLima1980/pseuds/AlphaLima1980) I'd write the story about when his Predator character Rava'an accidentally came to hunt during the battle of Okinawa. He's been beyond patient with me, but now the first chapter is finally here! Hopefully it won't take another five months to get the second chapter out...
> 
> I've tried to be as accurate as possible with the events that happened, dates, geography and terminology. All characters and names are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons that suffered through those horrible years are purely coincidental.
> 
> A special thank you to [Iblankedonmyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iblankedonmyname/pseuds/iblankedonmyname) for diligent editing. Also to [AlphaLima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaLima1980/pseuds/AlphaLima1980) for his fact checking. You are the biggest nerd!

  


\- o - 

**1324 (JST) March 25th, 1945 CE  
Onboard the battleship USS _New York_ (BB-34)  
12 miles south of Kerama Islands, Okinawa Prefecture**

Executive Officer Henderson, couldn't believe what he saw on the circular radar screen. The bogey was traveling at 780 knots, twice as fast and at least ten times the size of any reported enemy aircraft.

Henderson was second in the chain of command on the ‘New York’; the lead ship in the pair of class-battleships with the same name. Despite his staunch, unflappable disposition, seeing the odd blip on the radar made his palms sweat. The ship’s Commanding Officer, Captain O’Sullivan stood beside him, rubbing his chin in deep thought.

“What do you think, Henderson?” the Captain asked his XO. "It's too fast for a Zero type.”

“Don’t know Sir, too fast even for a formation of _Baka_ flying bombs,” Henderson replied, his voice strained with doubt, “it's definitely not a Betty." 

"Shoot it down if it comes any closer," the Captain ordered Henderson. "Alert me if it keeps acting strange." 

He walked back to his navigation table and continued to study the charts of the nearby islands laid out across the desk.

The fact that the battleship had been discovered by the enemy didn't surprise Henderson in the least. After their victory at Iwo Jima, they had been ordered to continue the campaign 850 miles west. Currently, the fleet was hiding in the archipelago outside the island of Okinawa. The New York, along with three other battleships, would initiate bombardment of the island in preparation for the landing that would take place a few days later. Great resistance was expected from the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service in their defense of the southern gateway to the Home Islands.

"Sir," Lt. Stevens drew Henderson’s attention as was his responsibility as his subordinate radar and sonar operator. They both stared incredulously at the flickering dot traversing the screen. It was headed straight towards their position at an angle of 160°. "This is no normal Frank, advise?"

Henderson shook out from his stupor and radioed the stationed gunnery officer in charge of manning the turrets. 

"Gun. Sgt. Brooks,” he called through the intercom, “ready the AA guns, enemy aircraft incoming, five o‘clock."

Brooks prepared his team and soon the mounted guns were pivoted to aim at the radar coordinates. Once in position, they waited until the contact was within firing range.

“Any moment now,” Henderson warned his Gunnery Sergeant. The Executive Officer decided to step out of the bridge to get a better look. The radar was notoriously unreliable and he wanted to confirm the object with his own eyes. Brisk salty air hit him in the face as he opened the final outside hatch. He searched the clear blue sky for incoming aircraft with his binoculars, when a bright, green light appeared over the horizon. 

"Fire at will," Henderson ordered as soon as he had a visual.

The object was heading towards the battleship at high altitude. Henderson sighed in relief, the bogey wasn't a formation of kamikaze or bombers, it would've flown lower if it was. However, there was a possibility it was some kind of improved Japanese balloon bomb. Either way they would destroy it. 

The boom from the stern 3-inch AA gun snapped Henderson out of his thoughts. 

Henderson adjusted his binoculars towards the flying object and saw the first salvo barely pass by. The bogey continued to gain on their position. At 8800 yards, Gun. Sgt. Brooks' operator fired at the object and the second shot hit the target, bullseye. Henderson gritted his teeth and waved his arm at the turret operator, but the light continued its course as if nothing had happened.

“Mary-Mother of Jesus!” he exclaimed, “Fire again! Take that thing off the air!”

"Sir, the bogey is gone, Sir," Lt. Stevens' voice crackled through the radio. 

"How can it be gone from radar Lt?” Henderson roared “I’m looking at it right now!"

"I don't know Sir," Stevens apologized confoundedly. "It disappeared from radar."

The Naval officer stared suspiciously at the hovering object but as he was about to order another salvo, the foo fighter sparkled and disappeared, leaving Henderson wondering what the heck just happened.  


\- o - 

**1500 (JST) March 25th, 1945 CE  
Unidentified Foo Fighter  
Chinen Peninsula, Okinawa Prefecture**

Rava'an absentmindedly scratched the old diagonal scars that crossed his weathered, yellow-green face. As the diagnostic routine of his ship ran into its final phase, he settled back in his pilot's chair. Luckily, his _Man’Daca_ hadn't taken any damage from the dreadnaught's primitive kinetic guns. Even though this was his second visit to the blue planet, he had not anticipated being discovered as soon as he entered the atmosphere. The planet's inhabitants must've made serious advances in their technology to be able to discover his cloaked ship. Apparently a lot could change in 300 cycles. 

What brought him back to this particular island was the memory of his first hunt. The warrior he had stalked and fought all those cycles ago had been both skillful and honorable. His cleaned skull still held a central place in Rava'an's trophy room.

Rava'an's gaze moved from the console to his clanmate, U'gra, who sat in the co-pilot's chair, sharpening his wristblades with a wet stone. Ugra's yellow eyes were intently focused on the task at hand. His brown and cream-mottled arms worked the edge like someone who'd done nothing else his entire life. U'gra was younger than Rava'an by many cycles, his face practically scarless, but they had already hunted a few times together and formed a tight friendship. Unlike Rava'an, this was U’gra’s first trip to Earth. 

They landed on an island that was mostly composed of volcanic rock. It was an elongated strip of land with a variety of environments ranging from dense jungle and high grasslands to rocky hills. 

The last time Rava'an had been here, the clans who inhabited the archipelago had waged war, but the small skirmishes that had taken place then was nothing compared to the number of forces on and surrounding the island now. His ship's scan of the area was visualized by a map littered with bright orange dots. They'd have to be careful to avoid the many inhabitants. Staying cloaked at all times would be an absolute necessity.

The only significant fortification was the stronghold on the southern part of the island. The ship's sensors detected a vast tunnel network, filled with kinetic weapons placements. Those creatures were setting up a defense grid. _Were they expecting an invasion?_ The large number of sea warships west and south of the islands reinforced his assumptions. The thrill of a hunt in a large, chaotic battlefield with countless unexpected variables filled Rava'an with adrenaline. He clicked his mandibles in satisfaction.

When the console quietly beeped to signal the final security routine’s completion, Rava'an rose from the chair and picked up his gear. Whereas, U'gra flung himself from the seat but then succinctly mirrored every movement the older yaksa made. Together, they moved through the ship preparing themselves for the hunt. 

By the time they were ready to leave, U'gra carried a considerable arsenal of weapons. Rava'an clicked and shook his head in disapproval. The young yaksa had too much firepower. They were on a routine hunt, not carrying out an official mission to dispose of bad bloods. 

Rava'an settled with his shoulder mounted _Vaj’ra_ cannon and a couple of _Cha’kra_ discs. If he encountered one of the sword wielding warriors from before, he would use only his wristblades to even out the odds. 

The sun was hidden behind gray clouds when they stepped out into the balmy afternoon. Rava'an's weather data indicated a 40% chance of rain for the rest of the day. To make sure they stayed undetected by the inhabitants, they needed to reach the forest before the rain started and disturbed their cloaking mechanisms. 

Rava'an pressed his wrist gauntlet to send the ship back up into space, orbiting the planet. The electromagnetic signal of the ship's cloak would hopefully be too weak to be picked up by any instruments located on Earth. He was more worried about being detected than about it suffering damage on the ground. The inhabitants however, wouldn't be able to enter it if they did find it. No one besides him and U'gra were paired with the ship's steering mechanism. In case both of them were killed, the Man'Daca was programmed to return to the yaksa clanship on autopilot. 

He signalled to U'gra, pointing out their first destination with his mask's laser. A grove of trees further inland. The young yaksa rocketed forward, his steps heavier than desired, but he showed good form. Rava'an scanned over the sea to make sure none of the enemy warships had followed them before he took pursuit, following his friend into the treeline. When he caught up, U'gra was already standing on the branches of a large ginkgo tree. The lush canopy made out of small, fan-shaped leaves would've camouflaged him even without the cloak. A good choice. Rava'an clicked appreciatively at him from the ground. 

He jumped and grabbed one of the branches to heave himself up. After reaching the limb U'gra stood on, they both moved deeper into the forest by leaping from tree to tree. 

\- o - 

**0530 (CST) March 31st, 1945 CE  
US Attack transport ship, USS _No name_ (ATA-27)  
East China Sea**

The mechanical alarm clock on Sgt. Merrill's nightstand rang shrilly. The upside to sleeping in the bottom bunk was that there was room for a nightstand, but the downside was that private Hodges was lying in the bunk directly above. The man was a hopeless snorer. Even now, as the alarm blared, Hodges droned on like a sawmill. Sgt. Merrill tapped the clock bell and it fell obediently into silence. As _Non Com Officers_ , Sergeants were not high enough in rank to earn private sleeping quarters on the 500 foot long transport ship. A shame, but Merrill always set the clock 30 minutes early to get some alone time before the others got up. To dress in private was a luxury that didn't come for free.

The transport ship carrying part of the Sixth Marine Division was only one of 1,500 vessels carrying 548,000 soldiers and marines assembled for _Operation Iceberg._ They were waiting on the order to start the invasion of Okinawa. Not even a month earlier, several other divisions had made landfall on another Japanese island, Iwo Jima. Reports from the battlefield conveyed a brutal scene. The Japs were overwhelming in numbers, their resistance fearless. The Japanese Imperial Army generals were already infamous, engaging in atrocities against soldiers as well as civilians in order to achieve victory. 

The Sixth had been shipped from Guadalcanal in the southern Solomon Islands almost two months prior after doing a stretch of combat training. Even though it was a newly formed group, the Sixth had bonded like all men who knew their lives were in each other's hands. They were all war veterans, coming from various infantry regiments. Sgt. Merrill was part of the 29th Marine sub unit, having previously participated in the capture of Saipan in the Mariana islands. That was nine months ago, but as the night-hours stretched on the waters outside the coast of China, Sergeant Merrill relieved the memories of battle over and over again as if they happened yesterday.

Onboard the ship, water had to be rationed and Sgt. Merrill hadn’t properly bathed in weeks. Basins of cold water and a cloth to scrub their bodies was all that were provided for soldiers and marines alike. This resulted in a prevalent, distinctly male, odour of sweat permeating the ship. It was impossible to get rid of the stench. Washing up was still a part of the morning routine even if the facilities onboard were poor. Most soldiers shaved daily and the provisional unit kept a few barbers to keep the mens' hair neatly cropped.

The interior of the ship was steel gray and depressingly functional. Not even the circular windows gave a good view of the outside. On the wall beside the rows of four-story bunk beds the marines had hung a picture of a pinup girl; a smiling blonde, wearing nothing but a sailor’s cap. Her curly, shoulder-length hair fluttered in the wind as she mounted the barrel of a battleship's main gun. Her left hand covered her nipples modestly, while her right was pressed to her forehead, imitating the military salute. Written in sea blue italics read the slogan: _Join the Navy and see the world._

Having a naked woman inside the bunkroom was not exactly US Navy standard procedure, but both officers and marines knew many of them would not get back home to their sweethearts, if they had any. A lot of the soldiers were young enough to have never had the chance to go steady with a girl. Even so, the pinup model, who they had affectionately christened 'Barbara', held a special place in many of the marines' hearts. It was something to lay eyes on as they did their daily physical exercise or wrote their behavioral reports.

Breakfast was served in the mess hall at 0700, without exception. Plenty of time for the Sgt. to conduct a morning workout before it was time to eat. The ship had no gymnasium or recreational facility. It was equipped to serve one purpose only, carry as many troops as possible from point A to B. The beds were hard enough to provide back support when doing curl ups. 

Many marines did jumping jacks in groups several times a day just to get a pulse increase. Without the routine exercise, the cramped quarters of the ship would've become suffocating. The transport ship was no place for anyone with claustrophobia.

Merrill was among the first in line outside the mess hall. Right before the cook promptly opened to offer them the habitual oatmeal with a side of scrambled eggs, at least that's what he called the amorphous sludge on the plate. They didn't have real coffee on the ship but the bitter taste of the surrogate was addictive and somewhat satisfying. Drinking a cup was the highlight of the day. The men in the breakfast line stood leisurely, facing their friends in small congregations involved deeply in conversation. Some of them laughed. 

Gun. Sgt. Simms, a burly, button-nosed man in his late twenties with brown, crew-cut hair, cut the line in front of Merrill. Simms placed a hand on the shoulder of the marine he squeezed himself behind. The freckled young man turned, saluted, and gave the Gun. Sgt. an oily smile. With his greeting out of the way, Simms twisted around and faced Merrill with a smirk plastered over his face. His icy blue eyes narrowed as he studied the fellow marine.

"You don't mind if I cut in line, do you?" His toothy grin didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't a question as much as a stipulation.

"Actually…" Sgt. Merrill started but was cut off by Simms when he pushed his index finger sharply into the Sergeant's chest.

"You listen carefully, sissy," Simms quipped, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't like you and I don't like your _lip_ ,” he sneered. Without removing the finger from the sergeant’s chest, he brought his face closer and added, “This ship is not big enough for _your kind._ " 

Merrill felt Simms's night breath taint every particle of air between their faces. It was revolting. _He_ was revolting.

Simms was the kind of knucklehead that liked to pick on anyone that he felt had some kind of detriment, whether it was stature, skin color, or where they came from. If anyone of his targets fought back, there'd be hell to pay later. Merrill had learned long ago not to get into arguments with the jackass. Simms must have noticed how the Sgt. frowned because he continued:

"That's right baby-face. You know better than to talk back. Why don't you go to the back of the line and wait with your nigger friends?" He gave the Sgt. a wicked smile. The freckled young man beside them flickered his gaze between the two marines and laughed nervously.

The Captain was right about one thing, this ship wasn't big enough. Not big enough to get into a fight. Once the campaign actually started, Simm’s would hopefully move on from pointless bullying.

Merrill found it strange how there was one in every unit, one asshole that had a nose for sniffing out those that were different, those that he thought were _weak._ The Sgt. wasn't particularly small or weak. At 5'9 with fair skin, dark-blonde hair and more muscle-tone than most privates, Merrill was above average in physical stature. But once idiots like Simms had set their eyes on a target, it was almost impossible to stay out of their crosshairs, even when trying. On a transport ship like this it was best to lay low. Merrill knew from experience that fighting back didn't help. It only made things more unbearable. 

So the Sgt. trudged to the back of the line, ignoring the stares from the rest of the marines. Having achieved his goal, Simms quickly lost interest and was chatting with his friends, laughing choppily at a crude joke.

In just a few hours the siren would go off, alerting the crew to man their stations and prepare for launch. Operation Iceberg was about to begin.

\- o -  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Glossary**
> 
>  **AA guns** \- Anti Aircraft weapons. There are different kinds, but on WWII warships they were usually mounted on a pivot with long barrels that could be tilted at a higher angle than normal naval artillery.  
>  **Baka bomb** \- A human piloted flying bomb used for kamikaze attacks. The allied called them 'Baka', which means 'idiot' in Japanese. They were actually called 'cherry blossoms' by the Imperial Japanese Army.  
>  **Betty** \- The Mitsubishi G4M. Twin-engined, land-based medium bomber aircraft.  
>  **Bogey** \- Unidentified aircraft. Specifically on a radar screen.  
>  **Foo Fighter** \- Unidentified aircraft believed to be hostile. The term UFO didn't exist until 1953.  
>  **Frank** \- Allied nickname for the Nakajima Ki-84 Hayate, the fastest fighter in the Imperial Japanese Army Air Service.  
>  **Man'Daca** \- Medium sized Predator scout ship.  
>  **Non Com Officer** \- A subordinate officer that has been promoted from the ranks but has yet to earn an official officer title.  
>  **Yaksa** \- Yautja. We humans mispronounce their species, same as they mispronounce ours. 'Yaksa', is the Sanskrit word for a kind of nature-spirit in south-asian mythology.  
>  **Zero Type plane** \- The Mitsubishi A6M. Mono-seated, carrier-based fighter aircraft.


	2. Chapter 2

\- o -  
**2010 (HST) December 6th, 1941 CE  
Pearl Harbor Naval Station  
Oahu, Hawaii**

The Bloch Recreation center was brand new and just in time, too. With its white-painted walls and shiny, flawless parquet flooring the venue was miles away from the worn, sweat-smelling gymnasium of Pvt First Class Jack Merrill’s old highschool.

Every conceivable US Pacific Fleet rank, from simple sailors to Officers, from mechanics to marines, was crowding the freshly painted auditorium. In the humid, tropical heat, everyone was drenched in sweat. Many were waving the “Battle of Music” announcement pamphlet at their damp faces despite how rewarding the small draft was in the packed hall.

Among the eclectic gathering of navy-personnel there was one group that stood out, and it was the red cross nurses, dolled up in their best heels and new dresses sitting closest to the stage. They chatted amongst themselves, flaring off flirtatious smiles across the arena at some handsome young man, or waving at acquaintances further back. 

The band of the USS _Pennsylvania_ was on the stage preparing for their set. The girls turned away from the back of the auditorium and flashed their bright smiles on the men in front of them as they began to play the swingy tune of “There’ll Be Some Changes Made.” If there was any room to dance, the entire center would have started stomping. Merrill imagined onlookers outside could see the building jiving to the beat, the crowd was so lively.

The Pennsylvania’s band was going to give Merrill’s ship a run for their money. It was already clear that this group was going to place. The USS _Arizona_ , in which Merrill played the trumpet, was already qualified for the competition’s big finale that was planned to go off two weeks later. Still, Merrill was confident, the upper brass and judges had already asked the Arizona to supply that evening’s entertainment, which already meant their band had something special. 

Jack Merrill stamped a foot to the lively beat. Before joining the Marine Corps, Merrill never considered learning a brass instrument. It was more fun listening to the music or taking a random girl for a swing on the dance floor. At school there had of course been the mandatory big band, but the Great depression back in the 20's had put Merrill's farm at stake and even after ten years, the family still struggled to put food on the table. Having other instruments than a harmonica or grandpa's old banjo was out of the question. A few friends owned their own record players and that's where Merrill spent most days, listening to Glenn Miller, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. It was eventually another marine-buddy, Billy Donovan, who introduced Merrill to the trumpet, and the navy had no problem with sponsoring the musicians' instruments.

That same Donovan was standing on a chair to see better, whistling and clapping his hands as the Pennsylvania began a jazzed up version of 'jingle bells'. Merrill forgot it was almost Christmas. Hearing something so specific caused a swell of homesickness. This Christmas would be spent in the tropics, eating pineapple instead of candied apples in front of the fireplace.

Not surprisingly, the Pennsylvania's band won the semi and was scheduled to meet the Arizona's band in the finals. They would need to practice harder than ever, but they had plenty of time. There wasn’t much to do on a ship moored for repairs. The crew had a lot of free time between duties. They weren’t shipping out until after Christmas.

Later in the evening as the Arizona prepared to play the after hours set, Donovan and Boyle complained that there weren't enough girls on the base. The recreation center was for the exclusive use by service men and just a few, officers mainly, had local girls invited. The only women available to the rest of the crew were the nurses from the navy clinics and the hospital ship USS _Solace_. They weren’t enough to date all the willing young men, and as the band had to finish their long set before getting the option to get on the dance floor, the women, by then, would likely be scarce.

As the evening moved on and the Arizona band played upbeat swing music so the personnel could dance their jitter-bugs, lindy-hops and foxtrots, the women thinned out so much the dancing nearly stopped! Only a few girls lingered by the stage, listening to the band play Louis Armstrong's 'Herbie Jeebies'. Even while focused on playing the trumpet, Merril couldn't help but notice Lorna Graham as she was trying to steal glances. Her brown eyes were shaded by thick lashes. When her and Merrill's sights happened to meet she averted her eyes coyly. Lorna was considered a beauty, but to be honest, Merrill couldn't see it. Her attention was problematic.

After 23:30 hours the band unit decided to call it a night. Merrill was putting the trumpet back in its leather case when Lorna and her friends drifted closer. She was smiling sweetly, weighing on the balls of her feet like a schoolgirl.

"Hi Jack. Billy." Her lips were painted bright red. The short, dark curls framing her face shone newly washed and styled.

"H-hi," Merrill greeted back shyly.

"You boys going to the Royal Hawaiian later?" Lorna's eyes glittered. She arranged a stray lock of hair behind an ear.

Merrill didn't know what to answer. It was clearly an elaborate way to ask them out, but it was getting late. The prudent thing to do was to go back to their bunks to get some sleep.

"I don't know, Lorna–" Merrill began, trying to squirm out if it. “Too fancy for us privates.”

"Of course we are!" Donovan cut in. He placed his arm over Merrill's shoulders and gave the girls a broad smile. “How can we refuse getting invited to the swankiest spot in Oahu?” Donovan blinked at the blond one who blushed and looked at the floor.

"Great!" Lorna chirped. Her two friends giggled. Jack had no choice but to agree.

So it was settled, and the group spent another two hours at the luxurious hotel’s bar. The high ceiling and dark wood floors accentuated the spanish-moorish style of the building with its numerous arched windows. If it wasn't so dark outside they would've had a magnificent view of Waikiki beach. Some of the officers glared at them when they passed by the expensive Chesterfield sofas in the lounge. Normally the luxury hotel was too expensive for the non-officers, but Lorna came from a rich family and didn't seem to mind buying most of the rounds even though she was a woman. They were doing shots, although Merrill turned down quite a few. Tomorrow was still a workday even if it was Sunday. Boyle didn't seem to mind because he gladly downed them in Merrill's stead.

“Would you like to go to the varsity theater tomorrow?” Lorna asked the quiet marine, “It's showing ‘The Great Lie’ and I love Bette Davis.”

“I have duties back at the ship.” Merrill responded curtly, “I’ll be busy all week.”

Over the course of the evening, Lorna tried to connect with Merrill but the marine remained tight-lipped. As the night progressed, she lost interest and finally accepted another sailor’s insistent invitation for a dance.

Right before the clock struck two, Boyle had an _unfortunate accident_ at the bar and the gang was asked to leave by the disgruntled bartender who had the pleasure of wiping up Boyle's vomit off the bar counter. Outside, they said goodnight to Donovan, who had his arm tightly wrapped about the blonde's waist. Merrill was in the midst of helping Boyle get back to the Arizona, but before they boarded, Boyle had to clear up a bit or the night guard would arrest them for showing up in such deplorable condition.

They hobbled along the dock, admiring the mighty ships anchored there. Before reaching the boarding deck, the boys stopped to enjoy the last fresh air of the night. They leaned against the railing, watching the stars glitter in the endless vastness of space. Boyle was sagging on the banister and it made Merrill feel uncomfortable, like the other marine would fall into the water if Merrill wasn't ready to grab his shirt.

"Hey Jack…" Boyle slurred miserably, his head was rocking back and forth, as if he could counterbalance the wobbliness of his legs.

"Yeah?" Merrill was patting the other man's shoulder. More to be able to grab Boyle quickly if he fell than to comfort him. 

"I've never spent Christmas away from home." Boyle hiccupped. His eyes were shiny with moisture.

"Me neither Elmer…" Merrill said softly. It was easy to get caught up in Boyle's drunken melancholy.

"I don't even have a girlfriend waiting for me… What if I never..." Boyle sniveled. "I dunno… I'm full of hooey. Forget I said anything."

"You're not full of hooey. You're just drunk." Merrill gave Boyle's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You'll have other things on your mind in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." Boyle took a deep breath but instead of stabilizing, he fell forward into Merrill's shoulder. 

The sensible thing would have been to put an arm around Boyle’s shoulders and help the wobbly marine back to his bunk. Instead, the sudden body-contact caused Merrill to freeze. Boyle’s warm weight on the front of Merril's uniform somehow felt more intimate than two mere friends comforting each other. The touch was electric, like a spark plug igniting after months of dormancy. The only thing the marine could think of was to put a hand on Boyle's waist.

In another situation this would have been inappropriate or at least frowned upon, but Boyle did not protest. Merrill wasn't foolish enough to contribute it to anything other than the marine's poor condition. The butterflies that were fluttering in Merrill's stomach wouldn't be mirrored in Boyle's. They stayed like this for a few seconds until Boyle effectively broke the spell by bending over and vomiting over the railing. When he was empty, Merrill led him to the barrack and laid him on his bunk.

Merrill kicked off the polished navy boots and curled up under the covers. Despite the strange end to the evening, the marine slept peacefully, not thinking too much about what had just happened.

\- o -  
**0600 (JST) March 28th, 1945 CE  
Outside Shuri Castle, Okinawa Prefecture**

Heavy raindrops battered Rava'an in an unrelenting tropical downpour. With the weather being what it was, the two yaksa hunters didn't even try to switch on their cloaking devices. To stay hidden, they kept to the trees as they stalked their prey, a regiment of soldiers. The group dwelled in subterranean tunnels under the large hill fort Rava'an had set as his target when they landed. 

A long stone wall divided the landscape in two at the edge of the dense jungle. Beyond the barrier, cobblestone paths led all the way up the mountain to a large, red castle with typical curved eaves. Rava'an remembered it from his last visit to the island.

The castle had been old three centuries ago, and while it hadn't contained interesting prey then, it was now the epicenter of the current conflict. It frothed with activity. Rava'an and U'gra had studied the inhabitants closely for several days, learning their habits. The fort was the central gathering point for all the capable soldiers. The surrounding villages were barren of targets, they only contained the weaker males, females and offspring. 

Since their improvised landing on the eastern peninsula, they learned that much had changed since Rava'an last hunted on the planet. It quickly became apparent that the invading forces were bombarding the island ceaselessly. The indigenous people stayed away from the shores and the many coastal towns were already evacuated inland, but the refugees weren't allowed into the main fortification for shelter. They were localized into the town beneath the castle. The yaksa paid them little mind.

Rava’an also noted the warriors bustling around the castle weren't carrying the same long swords anymore. Instead they used kinetic guns with fitted shorter blades on the end.

Scouts were sent out in pairs from openings in the ground, only returning after several hours of reconnaissance. The yaksa were currently surveilling such a hole. As a fresh pair of soldiers left the tunnel, Rava'an signalled his friend that it was time.

The patrol consisted of two young men with short, black hair and frightened eyes. They moved loudly through the undergrowth. _Too careless for scouts_ , Rava'an thought, shaking his head. 

One of them pulled out a large sheet of paper from his backpack. When Rava'an zoomed in, he recognized it as a surprisingly accurate map of the area. On it, red dots were scattered along the coastlines and around the fortress grounds.

While one soldier examined the map, the other started digging a shallow pit in the ground. When it was deep enough for his task, he placed a rounded, mechanical explosive-device in the hole. The one holding the map, nodded and marked the spot with a red pen.

Rava'an recognized the crew was laying mines immediately. To prepare, he pressed a few buttons on his bracelet. He scanned the soldier’s map and extrapolated it to the topographic data on his own HUD. Then he signaled to U'gra to do the same. His opposite nodded curtly before adjusting his own system.

The hunters followed their prey until they were well away from the fortification. When they stopped again to place another hidden bomb, Rava'an gave U’gra a new signal.

The heavy brownish yaksa jumped down in front of the surprised soldiers. The one with the bombs managed to unholster his rifle and shoot, but U’gra’s awu'asa reflected most of the bullets. U'gra grunted when one of the shells snuck between his breastplate and pauldron, but it didn't stop his menacing advance forward.

When the prey animals understood that their weapons were useless, the one carrying the map decided to attack using his bayonet. “ _Tennōheika banzai!_ ”[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160577/chapters/72446586#note1)], he yelled as he lunged forward. U'gra, using his own blades, cleaved the bayonet as well as the barrel of the weapon in one blow. The soldier stopped his charge in wide-eyed shock before turning around to flee.

Meanwhile the other soldier realized he was outmatched even before his compatriot attacked and was already fleeing through the jungle. Unfortunately for him it was directly toward the spot where Rava'an had descended from his branch. 

“ _Oni-ni-kanabō!_ "[[2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160577/chapters/72446586#note2)], the terrified man managed to shout before his cry was stopped by Rava'an's fist wrapping around his throat. The yaksa lifted him up to eye-level, and the struggling man's windpipe crunched when Rava'an exerted little force. The soldier in Rava'an's clutches looked at him with a mixture of rage and fear. His face turned purple from the lack of air, and after a few moments he stilled, staring mindlessly forward. 

___"Good," Rava’an thought. The man would make an excellent hide for his sleeping chamber, since his skin was completely intact, but on the other hand, Rava'an would have preferred a greater challenge._ _ _

___Frantic yells brought him out of his thoughts. U’gra was engaging his prey not far away. The scout had thrown his weapon on the ground and was cowering on the forest floor, trying to protect his face with his bleeding arms. U'gra was circling him, slicing up his limbs with his extended wristblades. Frothing, bright red arterial blood sprayed from the deep cuts. Rava'an growled low when he saw what his friend was doing. He was ruining a perfectly fine pelt!_ _ _

___Rava'an dropped the corpse and strode towards his friend. U'gra pulled up the man on his feet with one hand while he sliced up his belly from the sternum to the pelvic bone. The man's innards fell out in a wet pile below his feet. The soldier was still screaming, thrashing in the hunter's grip. U'gra raised his blades to cut off an arm but Rava'an snarled at him from behind, making him lose his focus._ _ _

___"End it already!" Rava'an hissed angrily at the younger yaksa. "Take the skull as you've been taught!"_ _ _

___U'gra dropped the bleeding man on the ground._ _ _

___"I was just having a little fun," U'gra grunted._ _ _

"The hunt is not about fun, but about skill and respect," Rava'an tried to soften his reproach. "A skilled hunter kills his prey efficiently, and at the same time has respect for the lives he takes." 

U'gra seemed not to understand, so Rava'an continued. 

___"He dropped his gun," Rava’an said, pointing to the man convulsing on the ground, "You must end his misery quickly. Torture is for the 'raksasas'," he warned his hunting partner._ _ _

___"Interfering with another’s hunt is a crime too," U'gra groused._ _ _

___Rava'an knew the rules quite well, there was no need to continue arguing, but he decided that he would watch U’gra more closely from now on. In previous hunts his friend had performed well, but something had changed here. Rava’an hoped it was just a temporary lapse of judgement._ _ _

___“Just end it,” he ordered, putting an end to the debate._ _ _

___"Fine." U'gra stomped on the agonized man's head. The skull cracked into splinters. The colorful mush of the soldier's ruined head stuck to U'gra's foot. He snarled as he wiped the gore from his sole on a miserable fern. "Happy?"_ _ _

___"What's wrong with you?" Rava'an tilted his head and scanned his friend. He wasn't showing any injuries or weaknesses except the bullet that was stuck shallow in his muscle._ _ _

___U'gra growled, his yellow eyes were blazing. "Why did we come here? These critters are worthless as prey!"_ _ _

___Rava'an bit his tongue so he wouldn't snarl back at the barely blooded yaksa. Actually he had a point, these inhabitants weren't as skilled in combat as the warriors of old. Their kinetic weapons were powerful, but the warriors were lacking in melee training. They also didn't die as honorably as Rava'an remembered. U'gra was angry at him for picking this island. He understood his friend’s irritation, part of him felt the same way._ _ _

___"There are honorable warriors here. Somewhere. We just need to be patient. That's also a part of hunting," he chastised the young hothead._ _ _

___U'gra huffed but seemed to accept the older yaksa's reasoning. He sat down on a rock and started to pick his wound._ _ _

___Rava'an kneeled in front of him and produced a pair of tweezers from his medikit. He helped pluck out the bullet lodged in U'gra's shoulder without further counsel. After that had been dealt with, he laid out his kill and began to skin it meticulously, just to remind U'gra how to take care of a trophy properly._ _ _

_____ _

\- o -  
**2000 (JST) April 1st, 1945 CE  
Unnamed troop-carrying LVT  
Hagushi bay, Okinawa Prefecture**

Every dark swell the transport hit with its nose caused the vessel to bounce against the unyielding surface of the Pacific ocean. The marines were packed shoulder to shoulder in what looked like turret-less tanks, advancing toward the island silently in the twilight. The LVT was one of a thousand launched for the western shores of Okinawa. Compared to the 1300 ships that still bombarded the beachline after a seven day raid, they looked like flies in a swarm of hornets.

It wasn't the first time Sgt. Merrill had been on an amtrac and hopefully not the last. The 70-mile long island defined by jungle-covered mountains towered over them as the vessel sped closer. As they reached the shallows and the track dug into the reef, churning forward on the bottom of the bay, Merrill settled into a state of mind that could only be described as war-focus. There was no past or future, only the present and their objective; to take the shelled beachhead at any cost.

Second Lieutenant Hodgkins was waiting for them. The ocean waves swelling up to his knees while he waved in the arriving transports. The LVT needed to return to shuttle another unit so the marines had to wade the last part before reaching shore. Merrill's boots started to take in water before the soles even connected with the sandy bottom, but luckily leather was easy to dry.

Before departure the unit received a debriefing from Colonel Sharpe. Wisened from the failure on Iwo Jima a month earlier, they were warned about the Japanese defensive tactics. No one wanted another American bloodbath. 

Landfall was always the most perilous part of an attack. Until they reached more sheltered terrain they were sitting ducks. However, the beach was eerily quiet. The navy had already done a good job shelling every inch of the shore to set off any hidden mines. What once must've been a lush tropical paradise, was now a crater-ridden wasteland. Hagushi beach was a lot bigger than the ones in Guadalcanal, so to Merrill it really looked like an enormous dig. In another time, visiting a tropical beach would've been a dream come true. Now it was only raw nerves dancing like live wires. 

The enemy was likely fortified behind the rolling sand dunes, holding back their retaliation until more marines were storming the beachhead. Then they would open fire and reap the unprotected vanguard. Merrill's first order was to locate the snipers they estimated were hiding further up and pick them off before they did too much damage to the troops.

As the unit finally touched land, fanning out with their rifles readied, Merrill happened to look right and saw Simms grinning back. The Gunnery Sergeant aimed his weapon at Merrill and pretended to recoil. Merrill ignored him but still looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one seemed to have, but they were probably more focused on spotting hiding japs than giving Simms any attention. The knucklehead got away with most of his antics anyway. 

The other marine wasn't worth wasting a breath on, not when they could be under attack at any moment. The ominously dark treeline approached quickly as they trotted through the heavy sand, trying not to stumble on any of the hundred bombed pits. A single shot could be heard in the distance and the troops were almost collectively holding their breaths. This could be the sign that the battle was starting.

As Merrill's group reached the treeline, another shot was heard, followed by a scream and a short salvo of return fire. Looking back, the body of a Japanese sniper was dragged from behind a tuft of grass. Something wasn't right. At Iwo Jima hundreds of snipers were hidden in dug trenches and burrows, hailing down bullets on the American soldiers.

Crowley was running a few steps behind Merrill. His helmet was a little too large for him, bobbing up and down but held in place by the chin-strap as he jogged. Merrill gave the pale young man the thumbs up, right before plunging into a hole, practically stumbling on top of a second sniper.

The Japanese soldier shouted something while scrambling for his dropped rifle. Merrill had lost the M1 too, but managed to wrestle down the 'nip'. Crowley was standing dumbstruck, almost bolted to the ground. Merrill was shouting for him to finish off the soldier. The nip was struggling valiantly to get to his gun and Merrill didn't know how long it would take before the man succeeded. It was getting tiresome to hold him down.

A loud _bang_ shook Merrill's poor eardrums as a wet splash of fluids sprayed all around. The nip went lax underneath the marine who became almost as paralyzed as Crowley.

"Son of a gun!" Reynaud's baritone shook Merrill out of the stupor. "Ya'll planning to wrestle them until they surrender?" The tall Louisianan reached out his big, brown hand to Merrill, who gladly accepted the boost.

"Thank you!" Merrill shook the dirt off the uniform while glancing at Crowley, "Geez Crowley, you get crippled like that again and they'll send you straight back to the awkward squad.” A pink flush crept up Crowley's neck and cheeks as he stared at his boots.

"Lucky for you I was here or you'd both be pushing up daisies," Reynaud chuckled deeply. "But ain't there supposed to be more japs here?" The marine looked around the beach.

"That's what I was thinking." Merrill looked at the dead nip and frowned. The feeling that something wasn't right only grew bigger. Okinawa was the gateway to the Home islands. The emperor should defend it with tooth and claw. This was too easy.

\- o -  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Glossary**
> 
> **Awkward squad** \- Someone who needs extra instruction at drill/boot camp  
>  **Awu'asa** \- Body-armor.  
>  **LVT** \- Landing Vehicle Tracked, aka amphibious tractor (Amtrac, Amptrac). The LVTs were basically hollowed out tanks, heavy and not particularly agile at dodging enemy fire. They had a descent ramp in front through which both infantry and vehicles disembarked, but with the disadvantage of being exposed to a hail of bullets.  
>  **Jap** \- Slang for a Japanese person.  
>  **Nip** \- Same as Jap. Short for Nippon (Japan).  
>  [2] **Oni-ni-kanabō!** [ [return](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160577/chapters/72446586#return2) ] \- Oni with an iron club!  
>  An Oni is a demon from japanese folklore similar to an ogre.  
>  **Raksasa** \- Bad blood  
>  [1] **Tennōheika banzai!** [ [return](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160577/chapters/72446586#return1) ] \- For the Emperor’s glory!  
> 


End file.
